Writing has always been an organic process for me, meaning that it has more of a flow of movement that I often times can't control even if I want to. For the past week, I've been staring at a blank screen wondering how I would begin to write with others attempts has been made well into a couple of paragraphs when I erase it all realizing that it's not something I want said. Not for the sake of censoring myself, if you know me well, I never censor myself even when people believe I should not say something. These are the moments when I usually cut to the fucking bone and get it out, but it's hard to cut through something when there is nothing to cut through.
The sentences that I know as much as I would know the faces of my children that are perfect sentences that would allow me to pour out everything that needs to be said happen in moments that I am not able to take advantage. The last time was between mile 3 and 4 into my run on Tuesday Morning. It was perfect and inviting and knowing that I was nowhere near any form of writing materials, much less capable of resembling human from a 5-month lapse in my running regiment. I would have placed it up there with the point where you know you are going to win and win big with any offense made mute by months of preparations and the awaiting arms of a lover with only a draped sheet separating us. Not joking. Those magnificent sentences are worth more than my weight in gold or what you'd find valuable. And to see those moments of great brilliance slip between my fingers are the equivalent of hold one's arms wide in giving some idea how large the fish was that got away.
Writing is difficult for me, something I have to be in the right mind or mood to flow without mental opposition. To connect the thoughts that I have been mulling over for longer times than most decide to choose a life-altering path in their future. If there is a more personal thing to me I would not know it. I have changed clothes in the open in front of many who either turned away or simply stared on and sharing my thoughts have always been more intimate than I could imagine. I've befuddled people who'd I shared a bed with only to have them declare me distant and cold when they could not pull the thoughts that I would sometimes chew on for some amount of time. Part of it is that I do not know I'm doing it and others have been simply too lost in the process that would have most consider my existence on the level of some cats who stare off to distances unknown only to lick themselves in a second with no continued exertion of mind.
I've before shared my thought process only to horrify and confuse many who do not realize that when I do have enough nerve to share my thoughts that it's usually to gain some insight to their reaction with a partial or even an impromptu thought experiment. A miserable few have ever been willing to give into the processes I endure daily. Most have to have that mental foot being slammed down, not even willing to entertain things that are disturbing and horrid, never knowing that they are proving my point and would have never considered anything outside of orthodoxy, almost as if they want to hide something bigger than they are willing to admit when I'm more than willing to expose my shame for some reflective insight that can assist in my train of thought. Never things that just get yucks from people like, "wanna fuck a dead body?" or stupid waste of effort in thought, but usually, attempts in placing myself in shoes of individuals that would have made other to cross themselves against figments of imagination when their own dogma does not require it.
I enjoy studying the edge. The place where most have crossed with enough pariah shame placed upon them while others would never go near for fear of it pulling them in and never allowing them to escape. I entertain the thoughts that people believe I have and the moments when words become useless and barbaric acts usually get justified in the end to redeem blood on hands. I subscribe to the Stephen King academy of villains being broken people who are pushed too far and usually are conditioned to being under the heels of monsters. I've met my fair share of family loving individuals who do share some tidbit of their process only to have it chill me to the bone. I've seen grandmothers justify rape as an act of beneficial gain for society. I've seen women condemn their own gender to toil when they have never had a callus. I've seen people who growl and foam at the mouth like rabid animals and wonder if they hold small children and tell them they are loved and protected. I've seen people laugh at some of the most horrifying things that can happen and thank their personal deity for it.
And I'm more than one willing to admit I have been among them and in some cases taken part. It's why I can not help to rethink and rethink the moments that I have been placed in those horrid moments without some inner conscious of telling me to leave as I do now. Most of my actions are often fueled by a guilt had in times of such ignorance that if I spend too long pondering I often times snap out of my thoughts with shock at tears shed. There is few moment of raw evil. The kind that children's tv always tell you exist. For the most, they are people who'd are more than human as must of us are, but somehow will debate you against another individuals or groups conceived humanity and how "they are not like us". Those words always chill. That strong assumption mistaken for law, revelation, or epiphany. Those thoughts that you'd shake your head and tell yourself that it could never be you. You are a good and kind person.
I question, what it would take. What would have to happen to cause you to be the nightmare you'd never want to have. Do you have to lose more or gain some? Would you need to be pushed or coerced even tempted? Would you have to have a way out or know that the one thing that keeps you a good person OR ELSE does not exist and that would naturally become your default setting? If the worst has happened to you would that be the justification? Is breathing justification? Is it by default justification? Would you feel this way 10 years ago? 10 later? Could there never be a moment where you'd simply snap or are simple people who do not share the seal of OKness that you project only susceptible? Are only the weak able to become such or do you have to reduce "good people" to such an inhuman state to be capable of said actions? Are some people simply made of shit or are they conditioned to be shit? These are only a few thoughts I ponder, especially when large groups act out in a way most are taken aback by and mockery is the only thing acceptable by small minds.
Perhaps I'm distant for a reason. Perhaps I'm just an ass. Maybe I have no idea what intimacy is or that my definition of it is something that would never be taken to the definition. I ask these questions now. Therapy is said to work, in which I can not believe, but most have said that there are most definable changes in my persona. I can't tell. I'm deep in and only attempting to find the hard questions I shy away from in hopes of not being trampled on by life once more. I know they exist if only because I am this way and I can not "openly be".
Sometimes I wish I had those perfect sentences like now. They would prevent me from digging up more things that pull me in ways that I'm told are harmful. I never noticed. Then again, I am in therapy and I am learning.
1409 words in 50 minutes.
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